


Housefire

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Strength Kink, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: Galo is deceptively strong, and it's ruining Lio's life.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 89
Kudos: 2025





	Housefire

Six months and counting. Four and a half since Ignis handed him the jacket, and a solid three since Lio secured an apartment of his own.

Looking back on his life, none of this was ever part of the plan. Err, maybe saving the world _was_ but, joining Burning Rescue and becoming Galo’s live-in neighbor were significant curve balls.

Six months ago Lio thought he’d either end up behind bars, or straight up dead. It was actually both, but nothing prepared him for the blue, bullheaded storm of a matoi-wielding idiot, determined to save those deemed not worth saving – and to Lio’s own surprise, his life is all the better for it (and very much not dead).

If you pinned him down in a confessional, Lio would tell you that knew he never stood a chance. He was perfectly content sleeping at the burning rescue HQ, because cramped bunkbeds and temporary living spaces are an old friend. But when an apartment opened up three doors down in Galo’s complex, Lio was the first to hear about it; at breakfast and lunch and during rescue hours and at the bar and outside the restroom and _okay, okay fine –_ Lio agreed to tour the apartment.

Here and henceforth; neighbors. 

It’s not so bad. Lio would prefer sharing meals with the man who synchronized with his mind and stomped the world into a healing flame rather than any other joe schmo.

Besides. If someone’s willing to burn their ass alive and kiss you back to life, it’s only polite to tolerate them a little.

The word _tolerate_ isn’t quite right.

“Lio!!” _Bang bang!_ “We’re gonna’ be late! You know the sheriff leaves at nine and she’ll write us up another citation if she catches us racing again.”

Lio tucks his helmet under his arm, clicks off the kitchen lights with his elbow, and opens the door to this new routine he’s adjusted into.

“She’ll catch _you,_ ” Lio says, locking the door behind him. “Last I checked, I’m three and O this week.”

Galo laughs, “Nuh huh! My tire hit the garage first yesterday.”

“Lucia played back the CCTVS. I had a half-inch on you.”

Galo presses the elevator button without looking, turning like clockwork and leaning up against the wall. He’s a tall presence, motorcycle helmet dangling from a set of long fingers, and Lio hates feeling short, but it’s not so terrible when it’s Galo.

He huffs, “A half-inch! I’m calling BS. Lucia just likes you ‘cause you started helping her with the mechs.”

Lio presses a finger to his own lips, and Galo whispers a _sorry,_ and steps in the elevator.

Galo is too loud in the mornings. It would be annoying, if you were that kind of person. But Lio spent too many years moving before dawn, never sleeping, always on the run, scavenging for food and staying out of the public eye. In comparison, an eight to eight shift isn’t much of a strain.

“How about this,” Lio says, tucking his free hand in his leather jacket. “If you beat me today, I’ll recognize you as yesterday’s winner.” 

Galo snorts a laugh, and Lio tries not to sound too winded when Galo slaps him on the back.

“You’re on, dude. First to the fire line?”

“Don’t peel out this time.”

“Oh ha-ha.”

“You are _fire rescue_ ,” the police sheriff scowls, a frown etched in her wrinkles. “Can you please act like it?”

Galo takes the tickets and salutes with them against his forehead, knowing full well they’ll get caught again.

“Yes ma’am!”

Lio says nothing, and the sheriff gives him that nasty look he’s grown accustomed to. Lio knows she thinks he’s a bad influence on Galo, and he knows the burnish prejudice will never really go away, even with the Promare long gone, but Lio likes being petty, so he gives her a mocking wave behind Galo’s back, and challenges him to a second race when the sheriff is out of earshot.

* * *

When the promare left Lio was purposeless, confused and angry and relieved all at once, suddenly _lost,_ floating in space with nowhere to go, a leaf in the wind, drifted out to sea.

But Galo was there. He told Lio to dust off, stand up, and come help clean up the mess. So Lio did, and he hasn’t stopped since.

“What’s on the radar, Chief?” Galo asks, chucking his keys into the bowl.

“Nothing yet,” Ignis grunts. “Remi and Varys went out on a house-cat call, but that’s it.”

“Maah, boring,” Galo sighs, flopping on the couch.

Aina spins at her barstool and frowns, “You shouldn’t beg for trouble, Galo!”

“The 9th station has been eating up all our calls, I’m telling you!”

“Good! Then less work for us!”

Lio slides on his orange jacket over his black ensemble. Ignis couldn’t pay him enough to make him wear the neon pants.

The common room is big and spacious and a tad on the luxury side. Lio used to spend most of his time hiding out in a spare office, but now he comes around more. Couldn’t say why.

Galo is pouting on the couch sectional, so Lio crosses the room and asks offhandedly,

“Lucia is busy?”

Galo perks up like a dog.

“Oh shit! That’s right, she was supposed to be working on my new matoi. I wonder if she was able to fix the suspension.”

Lio has yet to know Galo as long as the rescue team, but he is beginning to realize that few people understand Galo at his core.

It’s easy to see an idiot on the outside, because that’s what Galo allows people to see. He isn’t necessarily deep enough to own a false persona, but there are layers to him. Lio hasn’t uncovered it all yet, but he’s getting there.

Lio knows he shouldn’t think about it too much. There are a lot of things about Galo that Lio should just let go.

“Actually, I was going to ask for a hand in the garage,” Ignis gruffs, coffee lifted to his mustache. “I need to swap out an engine.”

“Again?”

“Mmm. It started buzzing out of nowhere.”

Galo swings a long leg off the couch and stands, grinning, “Sure thing cap. Need me to jack it for you?”

“I ain’t that old, kid. Get down there, I’ll meet you at the stairs.”

Mouth dry, Lio moves systematically around the firehouse kitchen, thumbing for coffee and blinking away the mental picture of Galo lifting a car engine with his bare hands.

“Shouldn’t they wait for Varys?” Lio asks, once the common room has gone quiet.

“Nah,” Aina waves, spoon clinking in her cereal bowl. “Galo is just as good.”

And that. _That._ Is the problem. 

* * *

Okay, you see. Here’s the thing.

Galo is not unattractive. He’s actually, to quote Gueira, ‘ _ridiculously and stupidly hot. like a big, dumb lifeguard.’_

And that is an accomplishment by itself. But Galo’s spirit is a different can of worms; stubborn, brazen, naïve – definitely not Lio’s type on paper, but in person…well…

Few people can go toe to toe with him. In a mech, in hand to hand combat, or in temper. Galo is three for three, and that’s hot.

But the worst part of it all? The absolutely _kicker,_ the shit that has completely ruined Lio’s life – is that Galo is unbelievably and deceptively strong.

He’s built out and proud of it, always without a shirt, toned and slim and sure, Lio assumed he could lift some weight, but not to the extent of a _car engine._ Or hell, even _Varys._

The first time Lio watched them go one-v-one in an arm wrestling match, Lio went lightheaded. Anyone would’ve expected Varys to snap Galo’s arm in half; not for Galo to almost win.

Reality checks are another old friend.

He has yet to see Galo meet his limits, and Lio is forced to shove his fist in his mouth, before he slams Galo against the wall and shoves something else in it instead.

* * *

“Bowl,” Galo says, so Lio bats, and they both throw threes against the table. Galo then laughs, leaning back on the two legs of the chair and crying, “God damn it!”

“We’re still playing to six,” Lio says. He waits until Galo readies his hand, and then they throw; four, five, two, three –

“Shit!”

“I win,” Lio hums, and plucks the pretzels out of Galo’s bag.

“Are ya’ll _still_ fucking around?” Varys asks, feet up on the table, fucking around.

“They play hand cricket over _everything,_ ” Remi sighs.

Galo pouts, “I normally beat him!”

“You’re off your game,” Lio says. He flicks a pretzel back across the table, and Galo catches it his mouth. It takes an embarrassing amount of effort not to smile.

Galo smiles for him, “Well, you won fair n’ square. What’s your pick tonight?”

“Spicy noodles,” Lio says. “You know it’s always going to be spicy noodles.”

“Were you guys betting on dinner?” Varys snorts. “Just get married already.”

Lio levels a glare, but Galo just tips his head like a puppy and blinks.

“Hah?”

Varys catches Lio’s eye, and Lio crinkles his coke can, just a little. He couldn’t take Varys in a blowout fight, but there are many other ways that Lio could make his life hell, and Varys knows this. He straightens up quickly.

“Nahh, it’s nothing man. How’s the jaw?” 

Distracted, Galo thumbs over the new bruise along his chin.

“Great! It doesn’t hurt a bit!”

“You got clotheslined with a two-by-four,” Lio deadpans. “I cannot believe your bones are still intact.”

“I drink milk,” Galo says, very seriously. Lio blinks slowly, and Remi turns a page in his magazine.

“Galo is a medical enigma, if you haven’t figured that out by now.”

“Oh no, I’ve figured it out,” Lio says. “It’s not just medical.”

Varys laughs.

“I’m not an enigma,” Galo frowns, rubbing his cheek. “I have great skin. I even _moisturize._ ”

“That’s eczema,” Remi corrects, and it takes every cell of discipline in Lio’s body to resist throwing Galo into the rescue elevator and fucking him senseless.

“Spicy noodles,” Lio stands, wise enough to know when it’s time to fold. “You’re paying.”

Galo salutes, “Yes sir.”

Lio bites his cheek so hard it hurts.

* * *

Rescue shifts are twenty-four hours on, forty-eight off, so it’s not bad. It gives Lio time to work on other things; mostly refugee work, loose strings from the Parnassus project that will take a long, long time to correct. Bills for compensation rights, medicaid, therapy sessions, the whole works.

The city bounced back quickly. Construction crews and orange cones still cause traffic in the inner city, but the outskirts recovered well.

The world is finally healing. Lio isn’t sure if he feels a part of it yet.

Burning Rescue was never his career choice, because Lio never thought he’d live long enough to have one. But people started moving on, Lio was going to be left behind, and the only thing that didn’t make him feel like throwing up was the idea of sticking his neck out there, getting down and dirty, and _helping_ people. Because of all the hell he’s been through, that is a familiar in this world of new. It’s something Lio can hold onto.

People are moving on, and Lio is still letting go.

Meis picked up a job as a barber. The salon is only a block away from where Gueira manages a local coffee shop. Lio doesn’t mind the drive.

Meis’s hands are covered in red hair dye, and it looks so much like blood, that Lio’s stomach begins to turn. He gulps his coffee as a distraction.

He wasn’t surprised when Meis took the job. Lio knew he went to cosmetology school before he turned burnish, but it’s just so strange to see him be…normal.

Their bikes line up outside the coffee shop.

“What’s up with the hands, dude?” Gueira yanks out a chair with his ankle and sits, a croissant in hand. “You kill someone?”

It’s a joke, but they all know Meis has, and could. The government doesn’t need to know that.

“Another color correction,” Meis sighs. “If one more person comes in my chair with box-dyed hair, I’m going to chuck myself out a window.”

“Just say no.”

“I can’t. It’s against my moral compass.”

“Your moral compass is a roulette wheel,” Gueira says. There’s the familiar slam of Meis kicking him from under the table. “Ow!”

“I need you to cut my bangs again,” Lio says. “Or I’m cutting them myself.”

“Oh god, okay.”

“No, you should let him,” Gueira laughs. “My favorite look was the ninety-degree hackjob. Very prada.” 

“Don’t,” Meis lifts a hand. “Don’t remind me.”

“I was running from a totalitarian government with a neon target on my back,” Lio tuts. “Give me a break.”

“We know boss,” Gueria jostles him. “We’re just jokin’.”

“You okay? You look kind of pale.”

“How’s stuff going with loverboy?”

Lio sets his face in his hands.

“Please don’t call him that.”

“You were going on about couches the other day,” Meis sips. “What happened?” 

Lio grumbles a distinguished sound into his fingers. 

“Don’t make me relive it.”

“Too bad, you’ve piqued my interest.”

“Aina lost the remote,” Lio muffles. “Galo’s solution was to lift the entire couch.”

The memory makes his neck feel hot.

Gueira leans back and laughs, “You’ve got it bad.”

Defiance; “I do not.”

“What’s the problem?” Meis asks. “Just ask him out already. You’re hot, he’s hot, you’d make pretty babies.”

“Very funny,” Lio frowns.

“For real though.” Gueira lowers his voice, “Back when we were crossin’ deserts you didn’t give a _shit._ If you liked someone, they were in your bedroll by the hour.”

Lio stirs his coffee, tone flat. “Good pep talk. Just call me a whore, why don’t you.” 

“Boss,” Meis frowns, and Lio waves his hand as if to say _I know, I know._

“We’re just saying it’s not like you.”

The coffee shop is quiet and devoid of cameras, so Lio says, “I don’t know if he likes men.”

“That’s an excuse,” Meis calls. “If I had a dollar for every straight man you turned –”

“Galo is _different,”_ Lio snaps, and the coffee shop goes quiet enough to hear the muffled indie music. Gueira and Meis look to each other.

“Theeere it is,” Gueira sips.

Lio picks at the label on his drink and sighs.

“I don’t care what people think of me.”

“But you care what Galo thinks,” Meis says, and that’s just the thing.

Lio does care.

“Everything’s all fucked,” Lio shakes out his hair, combing through his bangs. “It’s like all bets are off when it comes to him.”

“Sheesh. Mister _burnish-don’t-kill-without-reason,”_ Gueira sings.

“Watch it,” Lio mutters, and his stupid friends laugh like he isn’t having the crisis of a lifetime.

“This is great,” Meis says. “I love seeing you have normal people problems.”

Lio deflects, “Do you have any vodka back there?”

“Boss. It’s lunchtime.”

“So? It’s five somewhere.”

* * *

The truth is, Galo has become one of his closest friends.

It’s a different breed of friendship in comparison to what Lio has with his ex-generals. They’ve seen shit, been places, done things they can’t talk about, even under oath.

But what he has with Galo is untainted. Galo doesn’t know or care about Lio’s past. He only cares about who Lio is _now,_ and it’s refreshing.

“Turn that crap off,” Galo says, lifting the lid on the rice pot. “They’re talking crazy again.”

They share dinners in Galo’s apartment, because his floorplan has the bigger kitchen, and cooking for two is easier than one. Lio benefits from a better living room, but he doesn’t mind squishing on Galo’s ugly green couch. His apartment is filled with silly paraphernalia, and Lio likes how lived-in it feels. 

“Why?” Lio mutes the TV. “You don’t care if I go to trial or not?”

“They’re not going to arrest you,” Galo puffs, blowing away the steam. “Not on my watch, for sure.”

“You can’t control that.”

“I can and will. Kray already went to court, the world _knows_ what he did. The new Gov pardoned you already.”

Lio shrugs, and sets his head in his hand.

“People don’t like me, Galo. I’m labeled a domestic terrorist.”

“ _Was,_ big boss,” Galo says easy, reaching for a pot off the top cabinet. “You were also given a medal of valor, just like me! People are chirping just to chirp.”

Lio hides his smile through his fingers, pressing his face flat by the time Galo turns back to him.

“So long as the economy struggles, people are going to find something to blame. I’m an easy target, Galo. If they do enough digging they’ll find something to send me back to jail.”

Galo slams his hand on the counter, and it makes Lio startle just enough to widen his eyes.

“It _won’t_ happen!” Galo shouts, shoulders squared, and Lio stares back at him. He’s in an orange apron, (like he doesn’t wear the color enough), but the grey joggers and kangaroo hoodie make him look deceivingly soft.

“Okay,” Lio says.

Galo’s eyes soften, and turn to look at the tile, suddenly embarrassed.

“Sorry. I just don’t like you talking about that stuff. You’re a hero, man. It pisses me off that those reporters can’t see it.”

Lio could just eat him alive. He rolls his head in his hand, and smiles.

“Thanks. Don’t burn that rice.”

“Oh Lio, I’m a firefighter! I don’t _burn_ foo-- _oh shit!_ Fuck – open that window.”

Lio is already on it.

* * *

Lio performed enough CPR to last a lifetime _before_ joining Burning Rescue. Medic training wasn’t all that difficult to learn.

Few things phase him anymore, so when an arsonist decides to explode half a block with a brick of C4, Lio works on autopilot to drag a woman out of the rubble and begin work on her wounds.

The neighborhood is lit with red and blue lights. Sirens are a white noise, but Lio can still hear Remi and Varys extinguishing fires in the mech suits.

Galo is matoi-less, his suit currently holding up a bridge while he evacs people on foot. Lio is focused on his work, but the back of his mind consistently notes Galo’s location.

Lio works to make a tourniquet, and there’s a second explosion that rocks the ground. From the smell of it, Lio can tell that it’s a car engine that caught fire.

He speaks to the coms, “Aina, I’m going to need an airlift.”

“ _Ten-four, but I’m five minutes ETA, we’re unloading a school bus on 7th!”_

“Copy,” Lio says. The woman is unconscious, but she will make it to rescue. He’s beginning to dress a flesh wound, when he sees Galo go sprinting out of his peripheral like a rocket.

Lio whips his head around, and watches Galo skid to a stop in front of a pile up. Lio can hear his voice echo in the coms, and from across the street.

“We’ve got civilians trapped on main! Two blocks from the theater!”

Ignis answers, _“Copy, wait for backup.”_

Lio can see Galo tense, and dread pools with the knowledge that Galo is about to do something very stupid. Galo does not _wait_ for anything.

“Galo –” Lio starts, but said idiot is already working his way through the rubble, discarding cement blocks.

“I can’t, I smell gas!”

No no no _–_ this isn’t funny, Galo could _die._ Lio can’t sprint across the street fast enough, even if he left this woman for dead. Panic rises like bile.

“Galo!” Lio shouts, cursing as he tightens his hold on the woman’s leg. “You’re bare, wait for backup!”

“It’s okay!” Galo smiles. “It’s just a car.”

What? _Just_ a –

Galo secures a grip under the bumper of the hatchback, the muscles in his arms tense like steel, and Galo drags the vehicle off to the side. It leaves a trail of gasoline, and the metal groans as it bends, and the world slows to an excruciating standstill.

He just – he just _lifts it,_ a whole car, like it’s nothing _–_

Everything happens in slow motion. Lio’s heart hammers like background music, his body flushing hot to his feet. Galo carries two civilians out of the trapped vehicle, the first car explodes, the air begins to spin with the approach of Aina’s chopper, and Lio tells himself to _get a grip._

“Ignis is going to have your ass,” Lio mumbles, once the scene is clear.

Galo laughs lightheartedly, wiping off his face with what’s left of his torn shirt. His abdominal muscles shine with sweat, and it’s pornographic.

“Yeah I know. Did I look cool?”

“No,” Lio lies through his teeth, and Galo laughs like sunshine.

It’s another job well done. Casualties are kept to a minimum, the fire was contained, and nobody on the team was seriously injured. Lio would typically return back home for a full night’s rest, but he knows he won’t be sleeping for _shit,_ because he’s going to be up thinking about that stupid car all night.

A car. A bloody _car._ Does Galo even have limits?

Lio’s anger is split right down the middle. God Galo is an idiot for rushing in without a mech, going against orders, ignoring the call for backup – Lio doesn’t need the heart attack, he does enough running as is – but Galo operated on the knowledge that he _could_ lift that car safely. Galo knew he could carry both civilians before the car caught fire, so he did.

Lio tosses and turns. He’s washed clean of the soot, hair soft from the shower, wrapped up in blankets and pajama pants and lulled by the quiet stillness of his apartment, but the memory dangles in front of him like a carrot on a string, and Lio presses his palms into his eyes and groans.

What would it feel like if Galo squeezed him? Not in those half-hugs he throws around, but something _real?_ Tight and rough and hard enough for his bones to creak?

Fuck, fuck his life.

* * *

“Three days suspension,” Ignis says. “No pay. You’re on my shit list, Thymos.”

“Come onnn, cap,” Galo pouts, planting his hands on Ignis’s desk. “What’s the big deal? Everything turned out fine!”

“I’m tired of you ignoring orders because you feel like it,” Ignis hisses. “If I say wait for backup, it’s not a damn suggestion.”

Galo makes a wounded noise, and as much as he deserves the slap on the hand, Lio can’t stand by and say nothing.

“Calm down, Ignis.” Lio steps into the office with his hands in his orange pockets, knowing full well his mouth could get him suspended too. “I was there. I saw everything.”

“Then you’re aware that he disobeyed a direct order.” 

“The rescue was performed to code. He assessed the situation and acted under the knowledge that there would be no risk for injury.”

Galo has a surprised look on his face, like he wasn’t expecting Lio to stick out his neck for him – but in for a penny, in for a pound. They’ve got a weird streak of protecting each other, and Lio isn’t about to break it.

“Yeah!” Galo boasts. “I told you I had it under control!”

“Not helping,” Lio says.

“Sorry.”

Ignis narrows his eyes. Lio stares back. He’s not afraid of Ignis like the rest of the team might be, and Ignis knows that. Lio _can_ and will sort through a textbook of fire code just to prove a petty point.

“One day suspension,” Ignis grunts. “Do it again, and you’re scrubbing the bathrooms. Get out.”

“Aye aye!” Galo salutes, and Lio drags him down the hall by his utility belt. Their shoes clack against the floor, and Galo catches up with two strides of his long legs.

“Do it again, and it’ll be _my_ boot up your ass,” Lio says tonelessly.

Galo’s cheeks go pink, but he smiles goofily, and squeezes Lio’s shoulders in a half hug.

“Thanks for that. I dunno’ what I would’ve done with three days off.”

“Maybe you’d get a real hobby.”

“The gym is a hobby!” Galo defends, and Lio glares, because he does _not_ need that right now.

“Get out of here before Ignis changes his mind.”

“I’ll come grab you for dinner,” Galo says. He flexes an arm, “I’m going to make the best damn spicy noodles you’ve ever had!”

God help him.

Lio ties back his bangs with a hairband, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as fond as it is.

“Go home, hero.”

Galo beams, too bright and pretty for his own good.

* * *

It feels good to ride out of the city. Lio has traveled to all the corners of the world, but he’s still adjusting to this concept of _settling down._

At the very least, Galo seems to be a similar breed. As wild and easily distracted as Galo is, it’s unsurprising that he’s down to hop on a bike and dip on their days off.

There’s an old abandoned car park up in the mountains, where a logging town used to be. The cars date back a good thirty years, likely abandoned before the world burn. The rust has grown over with grass now, and they sit side by side to watch the stars.

Lio tucks his chin on his knees, and Galo spreads over the grassy roof of the car.

“I’ve never been out this far,” Galo says.

Their typical spot is the frozen lake Galo often leads them to, but Lio felt like driving further tonight. His cheeks are red from the wind, and he’s long adjusted to life without the promare, but he still misses the healing properties, sometimes.

As if reading his mind, Galo looks to the stars and says, “Do you think there’s more sentient life out there?”

Lio hums, “Are you trying to be philosophical?”

A shrug, “Just a question.”

“Probably. But I hope they steer clear from here.”

Galo rolls his head to look at him, and Lio’s gaze is drawn to the bared, unmarked line of his throat. Full lips, wild blue hair – Lio wants to scratch his nails into the shaved side of his head.

Galo’s voice has a slight rasp to it — deep, like he’s trying to be quiet.

“Do you still get those dreams?”

His face is too gentle and earnest. Lio looks away, out to the trees.

They were less like dreams, and more like glitches; like aftershocks of their reality sewing itself back together. Galo is the only one he ever told.

“Not as often.”

“Hm.” Galo pillows his head with his arms, and Lio dangles a leg off the car, bracing his boot on the busted side mirror. “Sometimes…” Galo starts, and goes softer. “Sometimes I feel like I dragged you into all this.”

Lio startles, but doesn’t show it. He looks to Galo curiously, fingers tangling in grass.

“What do you mean?”

Galo makes a shrugging motion. “Well – we saved the world, you know. Which is good and stuff, but like…” Galo rubs his chin, and Lio can hear the tantalizing scratch of stubble. “I dunno’ if this is what you really wanted. After we epic-ly saved the earth, I mean.” Galo meets his eye, and Lio’s heartrate skyrockets. “I just wanted you to stay. I’m sorry.”

Lio swallows back the waver in his voice.

“I think…” Lio flicks a sunburnt nose, “-that you’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“Hah – hey!”

“If I wanted to leave, I would leave,” Lio says. “Don’t think too hard about it.”

Galo smiles, and looks back up to the stars. As quick as it came, Galo’s somber mood is gone. “Alright. Do you think there’s space dolphins?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Well, dolphins are supposed to be super smart, you know.”

“Hmm. Do you think our dolphins are secretly communicating with the alien dolphins?”

“Oh my god,” Galo laughs. “They’ve been selling us to the feds.”

Lio fights a smile, “Technically we _are_ the feds.”

“Nah. Otherwise we wouldn’t have all those speeding tickets.”

Lio lays back on the grassy car. Galo shifts to give him room, but Lio can still smell him this close. No cologne, just leathery musk and feint smoke.

“Do you think Ignis knows?”

“About the tickets? Yeah. I’m a fuckup, so he’s probably just waiting it out till I pull some shit.”

Lio frowns.

“You’re not a fuckup, Galo.”

He laughs, knocking their knees together, and it feels so _intimate,_ so casual and gentle like a million romance novels that Lio burned.

“I’m just joking, don’t look so serious.”

He wants Galo to roll over and crush him. He wants to just bury himself under Galo’s weight and squirm from the pressure. Lio doesn’t understand the urge, and he’s not sure he wants to.

“Don’t let people call you names,” Lio lectures. “You allow one, you give them permission to call you anything.”

“I don’t care what people think,” Galo says earnestly. “I thought you didn’t either.”

“I don’t,” Lio says, _except when it comes to you._

“I have a title to uphold,” Galo teases. “Not just anyone can claim to be the World’s Number One Firefighting Idiot.”

The laugh is pulled out of him before Lio can bite it down. He watches a satellite shoot across the sky, and says,

“Yeah, patents all yours. But you better look out for those sentient dolphins.”

Galo laughs from the core, rolling a little on the car, and Lio nearly squirms with the urge to lick the giggles out of that dumb mouth. He exercises discipline and remains still. 

* * *

“I think I’m going to get a sleeve,” Galo says.

“What, like a shirt?” Varys asks. “That shit won’t last three seconds on you.”

Everyone is gathered in the common room today. It’s been slow without any calls, and Aina and Varys take turns throwing baskets while the rest of the team lazes around the couch.

“Nah, I mean,” Galo peels down the white fabric that covers his burnish scars. “Like a tattoo sleeve. Then I won’t have to wear this thing anymore.”

The mental picture of Galo with _tattoos_ is enough for Lio to go permanently mute and maybe hard for the rest of his life. He doesn’t lift his eyes from his phone in fear of slipping his mask.

“You want tats?” Aina blinks. “That’d hurt a lot, you know.”

“I’ve got a super high pain tolerance,” Galo chews. Remi holds out his hand for the chip bag, and Galo hands it over. “Plus I think it would make me look more badass. An old lady called me cute yesterday. I’m not cute!”

“You’re cute in a puppy way,” Remi says, taking a chip and passing it back. “Don’t you think, Lio?”

Lio doesn’t kill without reason, but Remi is walking a very fine line. Lio gives a look that could kill, and Remi smiles like a proud little asshole.

Thankfully, Aina cuts in.

“If you want tattoos, Galo, you should get them for yourself. Not to prove a point.”

“Nah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Galo shrugs. He curls his arms behind his head, and his shirt rides up, and it’s hell. “I want to get a traditional sleeve.”

“What, like Ignis?”

“Nuh huh, too tribal. I want like, a Japanese style.”

“It’s your paycheck,” Lucia shrugs.

“Hey Lio,” Galo pokes into his thigh with his foot. “Would you come with me?”

To watch Galo flex his arm for five and a half hours?

“I guess,” Lio yawns.

“What, need someone to hold your hand?” Varys teases.

“Maybe!” Galo beams.

The team laughs. Lio doesn’t like when Galo is the butt of the joke like this; he’s too innocent and good-natured to be teased about covering up old scars.

“I’m bored,” Lio drawls. “Want to spar?”

“Uh, _yes,_ ” Galo sits upright. “Sticks?”

“Ugh no, but I’ll cricket you for it,” Lio says, and they throw out hands until Galo wins. Ugh, _sticks._

“Don’t bust another window, or you’re paying for it,” Aina says.

“Hey, I paid for the last one!” Galo defends. It’s true, even though Lio technically broke it.

Their schedules are usually too busy to waste time sparring, and Lio isn’t one to waste energy on unnecessary things, but getting thrown around like a rag doll is just too tempting to resist.

Lio is no scrub. They use training sticks, and when they snap, it’s finally hand to hand. Galo is strong but Lio is _fast,_ sliding around his legs, slipping up and over his shoulders – and Galo never faulters, even when Lio starts to choke him out with his thighs.

When Galo slams his back into the mat; it doesn’t wind him, but it does make his body tingle.

It’s like the promare is inside him again. Galo’s hands on his waist, his legs, his shoulders – leg sweeps, takedowns, all of it burns him like a match in oil, blazing from the inside out.

Galo is sturdy enough to climb like a tree. Lio isn’t sure if he’ll ever get the chance anywhere else, so he takes what he can now.

The exercise tires out Galo for the evening, so two birds, one stone.

“You are _not_ subtle,” Remi says, _icop_ mug in hand, a porno mag in the other.

Lio crosses the kitchen for a cup of coffee and flips him off without looking.

* * *

Lio is not a weak man, but he is a lesser one. He sits on his throne of a kitchen counter and points with a celery stick.

“Against that wall, please.”

Galo lifts the empty bookcase and sets it against the far wall. His shirt is tied around his waist, and Lio has free roam of the muscles chiseled in his back. Michelangelo might’ve been onto something.

“Here?”

“Right, right, right – stop. That’s good.”

Galo dusts off his hands and grins, “It looks nice!”

Lio bites off the end of his stick, “Yeah, not bad for the price. Thanks for carrying it up the stairs.”

“No problem dude. Totally sucks that our elevator breaks down so often,” Galo pouts. 

Yeah, shame.

Lio bites off another _snap,_ and makes a contemplative humming noise.

“What is it?” 

“The couch is off center,” Lio chews.

Galo perks up, “Do you want me to move it?”

It’s too easy.

“Just over there,” Lio points, and gnaws on the celery as Galo squats down, and lifts the couch to avoid scratching the floor.

_Fuck me._

“Is that good?” 

“You’re perfect,” Lio deadpans.

Galo wipes his forehead with his shirt and grins, and Christ, he’s too good a man to be ogled by the likes of someone like Lio, but fuck if he wouldn’t _die_ to crawl between Galo’s thighs and suffocate there.

“Alright,” Lio sighs, sliding off the counter. “I guess I owe you that burger.”

“Halleluiah, I’m coming moon man, it’s mac _tonight.”_

“Really?” Lio snorts, and catches the jacket Galo tosses him. “All the indie joints popping up around here, and you want the golden arches?”

Galo does an impressive southern accent, “A lil’ mickey D’s never hurt nobody.”

“Except your blood pressure,” Lio smiles. “But I’m not one to talk. I ate like shit on the road.”

“I hear setting your body on fire burns calories like mad,” Galo grins.

“Like you won’t believe,” Lio replies, and locks the door behind him. They hop on their motorcycles and ride side by side through the streets. Galo is skilled behind a bike (he’s won a few more street races than Lio would like to admit), and of all things, it’s Galo’s handling skills that won Meis and Gueira over.

Broad, tall, big hands on the throttle; Lio would like to have him straddle the back of his own bike. He’d take him for a ride or two. Not to no damn McDonalds, either.

Galo eats like a fucking pig, and it’s gross in a hot kind of way. Lio has had vivid dreams about straddling Galo’s chest and squirting whip cream in his mouth until he gags.

Don’t judge. 

* * *

“Are you sure you want this?” Lio asks.

Galo nods seriously, careful not to jostle the artist penning an outline into his arm.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“It’s permanent,” Lio reminds.

Galo rolls his eyes, “No, really?”

“I’m just checking,” Lio mumbles. He sits in the guest chair, and spreads his legs out in front of him, knowing they’ll be here a while. “You’ve never talked about tattoos before.”

“I dunno,” Galo shrugs. He looks to the burn marks on his arm, all scar tissue and tight skin. “I usually hide it, not ‘cause it bothers me but…I don’t want to gross people out.”

“That’s a dumb reason.”

“I know,” Galo nods. “But it’s not…just that. Everyone in Promepolis has been working so hard to move on, you know? Especially the burnish and, and you!” He smiles, and Lio’s heart clenches. “I just want a new leaf like everyone else.”

It takes a moment, but Lio slowly pieces together what he’s trying to say.

The scars don’t bother him, but they remind him of who the enemy _used_ to be.

_Lio._

The tattoo artist starts up their machine, and Galo doesn’t even flinch when the needle pierces his skin.

Lio hasn’t seen the design yet, but he keeps Galo distracted just in case it does hurt. Galo seems perfectly content to make friends with the tattoo artist, and the receptionist, and all the other patrons sitting around the parlor, and Lio will have to vouch for his high pain tolerance next time, because he doesn’t break a sweat.

An hour in Lio asks, “You doing okay?”

“It’s not that bad,” says Galo. “I mean, the scar tissue is touchy, but it wasn’t as bad as the burn.”

Lio’s mouth feels dry. He wasn’t the one who burned Galo. He knows the whole ordeal was an accident. But it makes him sick to think that he could have done much, much worse than any burnish runt.

He almost did.

“The line art is almost done,” the artist says. “You’ll have to come back for coloring once this heals. It’s a big piece.”

“Duuude,” Galo whistles, studying his arm. “That’s sick.”

Feeling curious Lio shifts, trying to get a look. Galo beams at him, and lifts his arm for Lio to see, and it’s like a bucket of ice water down his back. Lio’s voice gravels into a rasp.

“Is that…”

“It’s a matoi!” Galo laughs. “And the promare, and the Galo de Lion _and_ your super crazy dragon.”

In retrospect, the design _is_ stunning, but Lio feels like his heart is being wrung like a towel. He summons all his patience, all the kindness he can into his voice, so Galo won’t startle. He almost cracks.

“Galo… _why_ would you do this?” It doesn’t make any sense, why, _why._ “Aren’t you trying to move on?”

“Yeah!” Galo studies his new ink, eyes sparkly with fascination. “That’s why I wanted to take my ugly arm and make it cool again. The burnish did some bad stuff, but they did some good things too. I don’t want to forget that.”

Lio sits down, still reeling. Galo moves on like he didn’t just say every word that Lio needed to hear.

“Oh man, this matoi looks _dope._ Nelly you totally nailed it.”

“Yeah?” The artist chuckles and turns Galo’s wrist over to finish inking in the flames on the dragon. “I actually can’t wait to color this bad boy. It’ll look good on you.”

That’s an understatement. Lio still feels like the world is crushing him to pieces, like he’s drowning, and being yanked to the surface over and over.

Lio could kiss him. Could straddle him right in that chair, squish his face in his hands and steal all the air from his lungs.

“Do you like it?” Galo asks, eyes wide with anticipation.

Lio swallows, and keeps his tone cool.

“Yes.”

His dragon will be a part of Galo forever. For the first time in a while, Lio feels like he could cry.

He’s going soft.

* * *

“Wahhhh it itches!” Galo cries, waving his arm like a helicopter.

“Slap it! Slap it!” Lucia chants.

“It’s not the same,” Galo whines. His head clunks back on the seat of the rescue mobile. “I wanna’ scratch it.”

“Do _not_ scratch it,” Lio snaps. “Remember what the lady said.”

They’re returning to HQ from a false call. It was a waste of time, but better than any real tragedy. There’s enough room in the firetruck bay for them all to stand about, and the mechs sit by like little tin soldiers.

Galo sighs, “I knoooow but the coloring itches way more than the lineart.” He then sets out his arm in Lucia’s direction. Her face lights up, and she winds back her hand before cracking across Galo’s bicep. The muscle _jiggles,_ sweet hell.

The firetruck bounces, and Lio clenches his fingers on the hanging bar.

“One more?” Lucia asks.

“Yeah, hit me with it.”

Lucia slaps him one more time, and Galo sighs.

“Better, but still bad.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Varys grunts, unphased when the truck hits a pothole.

Galo runs his hand through his hair, and Lio _still_ hasn’t adjusted to the sight of Galo with a full colored sleeve. To Lio’s dismay, the ink only made him hotter. He looks edgier, and the bright colors compliment his darker complexion. Meis and Gueira had to listen to Lio drunkenly whine about it for a good three hours.

Galo blows air over his elbow, like that’ll help.

“I’d take the needle over the _itching._ ”

An explosion nearly rocks the firetruck off its wheels.

It’s amazing how quickly the atmosphere can change. Everyone slips into work mode like the flip of a switch. The smell of ash and burnt rubber permeates the firetruck.

Varys and Remi jump into their mechs in practiced sync, and Lucia slides across the keyboard as she assess damage and gets a rundown from Aina’s aerial view.

Galo and Lio deploy in their own respective mechs, and with a spin of his matoi, the smoke clears.

A third explosion, down the block. Then a fourth, and a fifth, and the potholes pop off the ground like cork tops.

“ _What’s the situation?”_ Remi asks.

 _“Gas leak,”_ Ignis says in the coms, speeding by in his muscle car. _“Evac all citizens within a two-mile radius.”_

“Intentional or an accident?” Lio catches a manhole cover before it dents the side of his head.

_“Unknown, and not my problem. Calling in backup.”_

“ _Ugh,”_ Galo groans, his feed popping up in the corner of Lio’s HUD. _“Fuckin’ 9th.”_

Lio works on evacuations with Aina, while the rest of the crew battles the fires spreading from building to building. The wind isn’t helping any, and Varys’ mech goes stomping by.

_“It’s a spreader! The retardant isn’t working fast enough.”_

“I’ve got a dozen civilians evacuated to the bridge,” Lio says. “But there are more in the church.”

 _“I’m going in,”_ Galo says.

 _“Copy,”_ replies Ignis.

Lio sets a child with her mother, watching the HUD with one eye and checking civilian injuries with the other. It takes a moment for the coms to register past the protocols running through his head.

 _“Fuck, Ignis those pillars aren’t going to hold,”_ Aina calls. _“Galo, get out of there!”_

_“It’s not that hot! My soul can take it!”_

_“Christ Galo, now isn’t the time!”_

That’s all Lio needs to hear. He turns on a dime, sprints back across the bridge, revs the mech and jumps across an evacuated building. The police are here, and Lio skips across the tops of the cars to approach the church.

He needs the promare. He needs to be faster. He needs to _burn._

Galo’s voice is labored, and his cam no longer shows up on the HUD, and it’s like cold water down his spine, because that can only mean one thing. Galo has ditched the mech again.

_“I’ve got civilians!”_

“I’m going after him,” Lio calls in, but Ignis’s car pulls up to the stairs, and blocks Lio’s path before he can cross through the burning door.

“ _Stay,_ Fotia,” Ignis demands. He jumps his car door and presses his finger to his ear. “Galo, you’ve got twenty seconds before the structure collapses. Move it.”

His eyes burn. Lio’s fingers slip with sweat on the controls, and his HUD displays a million warnings. Critical structure damage, broken gas pipe on the second floor, air quality alarms beeping up the ass; there isn’t enough _time –_

Lio drives forwards.

Ignis jolts, “Lio _no! –_ Lucia, cut power to number sixteen.”

It happens so fast. The top of the bell tower caves in. Sirens blast as backup arrives. His controls go black. Lio kicks out the window of the mech, slips out the gap, and crawls down the body. Adrenaline narrows his focus down to one, singular pinpoint. Lio is no longer in control.

Fuck the job, fuck everything. The structure groans and pops and embers fly as beams begin to cave in.

It’s like he’s back in the desert, watching his friends freeze one by one. Panic; real, genuine, heart-stopping panic. Like he’s dying over and over again, turning to ash.

“He’s _in there!”_ Lio shouts, and Ignis catches him around the waist before he can run in headfirst. “Let me go or he’s going to die!”

“God dammit – ” Ignis curses, his hands almost slipping. “You of all people – get it together!”

He can’t.

“I can protect him!” Lio cries. He won’t burn, he won’t – he won’t – the promare will save him. His fire can protect Galo.

Ignis reacts quickly. He yanks Lio back, secures him in an armlock, and speaks steady in his ear.

“Breathe. Have some _faith,_ Fotia, it’s a part of the job. Look.”

Galo appears with two women thrown over his shoulder. Just as he steps through the doorway, the front of the church collapses. Lio’s knees go with it.

Ignis keeps him upright. He turns him, checking Lio’s eyes with the flashlight on his belt before snapping towards a paramedic.

“You, check his vitals.”

Lio gets his feet back under himself. Galo is okay. He’s alive, setting the civilians down by the ambulance and accepting an oxygen mask. He’s alive, and they’re not in the desert, and the promare are gone.

“No,” Lio says, voice cold and devoid and removed. “I’m okay.”

Ignis’s tone leaves no room for arguing, “I’m telling you to take a break.”

Lio disputes anyways.

“I can work, captain.”

“You’re not in trouble, but I’m telling you to sit the rest of this out,” Ignis commands evenly. He crosses his arms, and Lio still isn’t intimidated.

Galo jogs up to them, covered in black and a little bruised, but none the worse for wear. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Lio stares Ignis down. Ignis stares back, unreadable behind his sunglasses.

“I can work,” Lio repeats.

Ignis doesn’t reply right away. The fire is smoldering now that the additional fire teams are on scene, and Galo looks between them like a lost puppy. Ignis makes the call,

“Galo. Take sixteen out to Remi for containment. Lio, you’re on foot, medic only.”

Galo blinks in rapid surprise, but nods sharply.

“Sure thing cap.”

He squeezes Lio’s shoulder before climbing into his mech, and the touch scalds down the side of Lio’s neck, seizing his muscles and making his stomach knot.

His tongue feels thick. Ignis is watching him with a critical eye.

“Yes sir,” Lio nods coldly, and turns away.

* * *

Lio does not recover like he thought he would.

He works through the rest of his shift on autopilot. He feels numb and cold. But his heartrate hasn’t slowed, and it’s running in circles like a hamster on a wheel. His hands are shaking, and it’s embarrassing, it’s fucking embarrassing.

This is not the worst thing he’s seen. It’s not the worst thing he’s seen Galo _do._ But for some unspeakable reason, it was like every memory rolled out at once. The fight or flight kicked in, and it won’t go away.

Lio learned the hard way that it’s better not to care for things. As a burnish, so much could be taken from you so quickly; in conclusion, it was better not to bother. He had enough on his plate back then.

But he cares about Galo. He cares enough to nearly get himself killed.

Lio showers at the fire house, but he can’t feel the water. Everyone rambles on around him, jovial and enthusiastic from a job well done, but Lio feels like his soul has been plucked out of his body, and it won’t go back in.

“Hey man.” Varys grabs his shoulder, and Lio goes rigid. “Are you coming?”

“Where?” Lio manages.

Varys gives him a strange look, but lets go of his arm. “Ignis cut us early, so we’re going to the bar. Remember?”

“Oh,” Lio blinks. “No. No thanks.”

“Aww come on Lio,” Galo smiles. “It was a rough day. Some shots will do you good.”

It feels like he can’t breathe. Like someone is stealing all his air. Like the room is three sizes too small.

“I need to go home,” Lio says. He turns stiff on his heel and puts all his effort into keeping his expression blank. He tries for a light tone, “Good night.”

The room goes silent behind him. Galo gives him a wounded look, and Lio can’t look at him.

“Um. Okay. Good night.”

When the door shuts, Lio almost sprints into the elevator. He can’t find his keys fast enough, can’t steady right on his bike, can’t keep his eyes from blurring.

_What is wrong with me?_

He’s stronger than this. It’s embarrassing, it’s _so_ embarrassing.

He can see all of it. All the people that died in his arms. All the burnish that turned to ash. His own fingers, melting into the ground. Galo, of all people, cupping his head and kissing heat into his mouth and Lio would never, ever keep Galo from the job he loves most, but Lio can’t stand to see him in danger.

Not right now. Not tonight.

It takes him three tries to turn the key on his lock. His breathing is getting faster, tighter. It sucks, it really sucks.

 _Stop it,_ he tells himself. _Breathe, stupid._

He can’t. The promare are gone. Thousands of his brethren died under his hands.

He almost lost Galo, and Lio never told him he loved him.

* * *

It takes a while for Lio to register the pounding on his door. He’s not sure why he’s holding a bag of ice, but it looks like he’s been chewing on it.

The kitchen tile is cold under his toes. Lio presses the ice pack against his forehead, and his fingers tremble.

_“Lio?? Are you asleep already? Lio??!”_

The door bangs, and with good humor Lio thinks, _well, I wouldn’t be anymore if I was._

There’s a strange clicking noise. Lio presses the ice to his cheek, hoping to soak it in and curb stomp the pit in his stomach.

His lock throws, and Lio realizes that Galo was picking it with his pocketknife.

_Creeeeak._

“Lio?” Galo yell-whispers. “I’m sorry to break into your apartment but you were acting weird and – _Lio!_ ”

The door slams, and Lio doesn’t react as Galo skids in front of him.

“Hey, hey, are you alright?” Galo drops to a knee and plucks the ice pack from his fingers. Lio looks at him, but his vision is fuzzy. To Galo’s credit, he reacts quickly; fingers grip his pulse, while his free hand checks his skull, neck, and shoulders. “Shit, you’re freezing. What year is it?” 

Lio is shaking like he swam in the mountain lake.

“I’m fine,” Lio croaks.

Galo ignores him, “Answer my question. Who’s the governor?”

“Maria Hodge. Go home, Galo.”

“Ah, good,” Galo nods. “Up we go.”

Lio is scooped off the floor quickly. He has enough reaction time to hold on, but he’s quickly set down on the couch, and Galo kneels between his legs, concern masked behind a strong front. The pity is making him sick.

“Go _away,_ ” Lio snaps, but Galo bats off his hands and wipes his cheeks, and Lio didn’t even realize he’d been crying. God, he could die of mortification, if his brain was on right.

“I’m not going anywhere until you calm down.”

“Fuck _off,_ ” Lio hisses, but he’s still crying, so it doesn’t have the killer intent. God damn it, what is his problem?

They’re going to kick him off the team. He _knew_ this was a bad idea – and now Galo of all people has to see him at his weakest, _again._

“Hey hey, it’s okay,” Galo’s thumbs keep at his cheeks, rough and worn from his gloves. “Lio you’re not alone, it happens to all of us.” The big, glossy blue of his eyes is distracting. His tone is so genuine, Lio almost believes him. 

“You can spare me the pity,” he sniffs.

“I’ll pity you when you’re dead,” Galo replies. Lio realizes that he’s still reading his pulse.

“Good medic,” Lio rasps. Galo smiles, and Lio knows his face has gone red, but it’s too late now. His pride is destroyed.

“I’ve been here,” Galo says, with a thump to Lio’s sternum. His voice is like an anchor, loud and abrupt and cutting through the muffled noise in his head. “Damn, I don’t know any first responder who hasn’t. In and out, Lio, keep at it.” 

“I’m better than this,” Lio croaks.

“Sure are,” Galo agrees. “What do you need?”

“Stop –”

“Lio, please.”

“I don’t need _anything_ from you.”

Galo catches his hands, “Woah, calm down _._ ” 

Fed up, Lio goes to kick him, but Galo digs an elbow into his thigh, and the sudden strength pins him down like a knife. 

_“Lio,”_ Galo growls his name, and it’s never sounded so good. “Don’t think I don’t notice. I have amazing eyesight, dude. Twenty-twenty like a hawk.”

The statement throws Lio enough to quit struggling. He blinks once.

“What?”

The serious look on Galo’s face melts into a familiar smile. He lets up on his thigh, and lowers Lio’s hands into his lap.

“I notice stuff, even when I pretend not to.” He unclenches Lio’s fingers one by one. “I know you look out for me. It’s crazy, ‘cause I’m like, _definitely_ bigger than you, and I know you can eat more spicy food, but I’ve got at least a hundred pounds on ya.”

“Not that many,” Lio mumbles. His shakes are slowing, but the adrenaline is still kicking.

“Let me take care of you too,” Galo pleads. 

Lio swallows, “Galo…”

“What do you need?”

That’s the million-dollar question. Lio is now holding Galo’s hands, and his fingers are swallowed up in his grip _._ Everything about Galo is big, in your face and loud and Lio wants to be smothered by him until he drowns.

The idea alone sends a wave of _calm_ down his spine, so sudden that he nearly chokes. He clenches Galo’s wrist, and for once, Galo waits patiently.

“I…” Lio starts. His throat feels dry. Galo is staring right through him. “This is going to sound weird.”

“Anything.”

Lio is too tired to play pretend anymore. Here it goes.

“Can you just…lay on me?”

He waits for Galo to reel back in surprise. He waits for the questions, for the judgement, for anything.

But Galo blinks once, tips his head, and then nods.

“Sure. Lay back, okay?”

It’s so _not_ the answer that Lio was expecting, that he’s nothing but putty as Galo prods him down on the couch, grabs a blanket off the back and rolls down on him entirely.

Lio gasps, and then that’s it.

Galo snakes his arms around him and squeezes tight. And like a switch, it all just – turns off. His brain is quiet; the world has never been so peaceful.

“Let me know if you can’t breathe.”

 _“_ Do _not_ move,” Lio hisses. Galo exhales what might’ve been a laugh, but Lio is too busy tingling from head to toe.

It feels like Galo is molding into him. His ribs creak, and he can feel Galo’s heartbeat through their clothes. Messy hair tickles his nose, tight muscle squishes along the entirety of his body, and Lio could just drift away.

He’s big, and he’s heavy. It’s kind of everything Lio ever dreamed of.

Like a fucking drug, his eyelids feel heavy immediately. It’s not oppressive, not enough that he can’t breathe, but somehow just right. Like two corner puzzle pieces.

Lio brings his fingers up to Galo’s spine, afraid to hug him back and break the spell.

“It’s okay,” Galo says. He rests his head on Lio’s shoulder, and Lio could just die. “You’re okay.” His bones crick as Galo hugs him. 

Lio hates being coddled, but it’s like Galo said his Russian sleeper-agent trigger word, and now he’s fully hypnotized. Lio breathes in a steady scent of leather and pine, clenches his fingers in the back of Galo’s shirt, and he’s out like a light.

* * *

Lio wakes up slowly. Like dragging in a net from sea.

The light from his balcony juts across his living room in streaks. The couch cushion scratches his cheek, and from the blanket tucked around his legs, Lio can tell that his jeans were pulled off at some point during the night.

He feels like he got flattened by a steamroller. His body is sore and achy, and Lio flinches when he registers the smell of syrup, and the clink of a pan in his kitchen.

“Fuuuuuck,” Lio drawls, and squirms his palms into his eyes.

“They caught the guy who set off the gas leak,” Galo says, instead of good morning. Lio sits up slowly, and risks a glance to the kitchen.

Galo is bright eyed and goddamn bushy tailed, leaning against the kitchen island and eating a plate of pancakes. He’s in different sweatpants from yesterday, so it’s obvious he went home and broke back in just to cook breakfast.

“Ah,” Lio blinks. He stands up slowly.

“Sheriff said they’re going away for a long time.” Galo holds up a plate. “Pancakes?”

Lio is processing the mortification in small increments. He walks straight past Galo and into the bathroom.

The door shuts with a solid click, and Lio stares back at his wild reflection. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is a mess, and Lio spends too long brushing his teeth, hoping he won’t have to go back out there and face Galo again.

He washes his face, combs his hair, and burns with the realization that Galo must’ve pulled off his pants last night, the fifteen belts included.

There’s the continual clink of pots and pans, and Lio squeezes his eyes shut hard.

_I don’t deserve you,_ Lio thinks.

Galo is still around when he exits the bathroom. Still in his boxers, Lio crosses towards the kitchen island where Galo is washing a pan in the sink with serious intent. He perks up when Lio approaches, but doesn’t say anything, leaving the ball in Lio’s court this time.

Lio slowly sits at the bar and picks up a fork. Galo appears to relax slightly; his shoulders soften, and he goes back to scrubbing the pan.

The clink of silverware sounds too loud against his plate. The pancakes are good, but Lio can’t seem to shake off this weird emotional hangover.

He draws a line in the syrup with his fork.

“I haven’t felt like that since the dragon,” Lio says. Galo’s expression is somber as he sets the pot on the drying rack.

“It happens to the best of us.”

“Not to me.”

“I guess that means you’re human,” Galo pouts. “Sorry to break it to you.”

Lio sighs, and rubs his fingers across his brows.

“Galo, I’m sorry –”

“Ap ap ap,” Galo cuts off, “I told you not to worry about it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to –”

 _“Lio,_ ” he interrupts again. “We’re friends, right? It’s cool.”

For some reason, that makes it all worse. Lio pushes the plate aside, appetite gone.

“I at least owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” Galo says. “I really don’t care, dude.”

That’s not it. That’s not the _point._ Lio can’t continue to take advantage of him like this. He can’t keep pretending that this is somehow platonic _._ He can’t ask these things from Galo, even if he says it’s okay.

“I like you,” Lio says, like a bandaid. And then Lio is free.

The stillness of his apartment mocks him. Clean floors, white walls, sleek and silent. Galo is unnervingly rigid and still.

He stares long and hard. Lio stares back long enough to think that maybe – maybe he wasn’t specific enough.

“I mean – not like a friend. It’s more than –”

“I know,” Galo says, turning his world upside down. Lio gapes, and Galo begins to cover, “I mean! I didn’t _know_ know, but I – well. I hoped, I guess.”

Lio’s mouth opens in shock, and nothing comes out at first. Realization is a slow, stupid burn.

“You mean…”

Galo smiles beautiful.

“I started a fire for you, Lio. What do you think?”

Of course.

_Stupid._

Lio had never thought of it that way. But to Galo, he might as well have dropped to one knee.

He slowly walks around the corner of the kitchen island, approaching Galo at a gradual pace.

“You knew,” Lio recaps, “that I liked you.”

Galo scratches the back of his head with his tatted hand.

“Well…maybe.”

Lio’s heart is a storm in his chest. The frazzled nerves are all butterflies in his stomach, bouncing around like ping pong balls. Lio’s voice comes out straight anyways.

“You are much more clever than you let on.”

Galo grins, “You don’t have to be smart to be observant.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you?”

Lio approaches now, head tipping up to look Galo in the eye.

“Say it now,” he demands, hands bracing on the counter by Galo’s hips.

“I liiiiike yooou,” Galo sings, and catches his wrists at the bone. His fingers circle around completely, big and warm, and all the weight on his heart is gone, just like that. Lio leans up on his toes and kisses him.

Fuck, it’s perfect. Warm and wet and slow – he can feel Galo’s smile sizzling against his mouth. It’s the kiss that’s haunted him; the kiss he wished he was _awake for,_ damn, but they rewrite it over, their own brand new start.

Lio pins him against the counter. Galo’s mouth tastes like the sun, and maybe orange juice, but they’re one and the same. Galo lifts a hand to cup his cheek, and Lio’s neck draws up in goosebumps because his fingers are so _big,_ they nearly consume him. It turns passionate, then near breathless — show-stopping, and of the likes.

“You’re really, really, _really_ pretty,” Galo blurts, short of breath.

“Who taught you how to kiss like that?” Lio huffs.

Galo giggles, _I’m not telling you!_ and then there’s fire on his tongue again.

Lio makes a short and content sound, and Galo echoes it back. His lips are _soft;_ Lio traces his tongue and takes everything he’s wanted. He wants to make out until they’re stitched together and turned to stone.

Galo lets him control the kiss, but he grabs Lio tight by the waist, and spins him around to sit on the counter one handed. Galo has to grip him tightly to keep him from slipping, and Lio gasps from his core.

The short pain is gone as soon as it came. His butt is now firmly on the counter, but his side burns in aftershocks, tingly little reminders of how strong this man can be.

“Sorry,” Galo blurts, rubbing over his ribs through his shirt to soothe the sting. “But also not sorry? You like that, don’t you?”

Damn.

“I liked you better when you were playing stupid,” Lio mumbles, face red.

Galo gives a wounded look, and looks away sadly.

“Oh, okay.”

Lio’s heart jerks, and he grips the back of Galo’s head, stammering, “W-wait, that’s not what I-”

Galo grins cheekily, and Lio realizes that he was fucking with him again. He huffs, kicking Galo’s butt with his bare heel.

“You’re a dick.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Galo purrs. He looks Lio over, eyeing him like a meal. “I think it’s kinda hot that you like being manhandled.”

“ _Kinda_?”

“Kinda a _lot,_ ” Galo corrects. He slides his hands to Lio’s bare thighs, and squeezes testily, “Can I?”

“Holy fuck, yes.”

Galo kisses him, Lio scratches his nails into Galo’s scalp, and he lets out a hard, relieved breath as Galo kneads his thumbs into the sensitive tissue of his inner thighs. He’s not holding back any, like he knows Lio won’t break, and that is most certainly a turn on.

Galo is not as innocent and naive as previously thought. Maybe a little dumb, and that’s sexy too. Lio curses those new tattoos etched in muscle. 

“Fuuuck fuck,” Lio grits, and turns his head to suck into the hot skin of Galo’s neck. Bite, pull, release. “I want to blow you so bad. Are you a top?”

“I’m a switch,” Galo says. The implication makes Lio’s stomach knot.

“Ah. We’re going to get along very well.”

* * *

Lio isn’t wasting time on any unnecessary pretenses. He’s using all of his focus to just soak Galo in, to memorize the way he moves, the way he kisses. He’s a bit clumsy, and Lio adores it so goddamn much.

“Watch your arm,” Lio tells him.

“Fuck you smell good,” Galo sighs. “Lio, I’m obsessed with your body.”

Lio flushes with a straight face.

“That’s nice.”

Galo tests his grip on Lio’s slender wrists, and the burn is heavenly. Lio nearly shredded Galo’s tank off his shoulders, and he squirms in his grip, determined to feel over all that exposed muscle. 

Galo lets him go, and Lio runs his nails over broad shoulders. He can feel Galo’s body heat through his sweatpants, thick thighs and sturdy calves and the best ass ever. Lio squeezes it.

“You’re fucking me into this mattress,” Lio tells.

“Yes sir,” nods Galo. He pushes up Lio’s shirt and drags his hands down Lio’s bare chest, rough and none-too gently, and Lio goes rock solid when Galo applies pressure around his ribs. Something in his back pops.

“Ughhh,” Lio rolls his eyes back. Galo beams at him, and Lio shivers when there’s teeth at his sternum. “Shit,” he curses. “Take your pants off.”

Galo’s cheeks run pink, and he looks Lio over once more.

“Is it okay that – I mean, sorry, I’m like _mad_ hard right now. It’s just, your noises…”

Lio is going to burn down this apartment in frustration. He wiggles down and grinds his dick against Galo’s crotch through the fabric of their clothes, and Galo’s eyes go wide.

Lio snaps, “You really can’t feel that?”

“Ah,” Galo says smartly. He yanks off his joggers and tosses them off the bed, and it becomes obvious that Galo goes commando on the regular, and Lio has _had it._ He kicks at him until Galo rolls on his back, and Lio is graced with one of the most gorgeous cocks ever made. Lio could cry.

“Don’t pull my hair, but you can squeeze me,” Lio explains, and then dives the hell in. Galo is loud in the best way, and Lio sucks him off until his jaw hurts.

He’s a lot. Fuzzy thighs, steel muscle, an entirely different breed of human; noisy where Lio is silent, brutish where Lio is not, they’re different in a million ways, and that’s why it’s the best. 

Galo is thick as hell too, he wasn’t lying about the sore jaw. Galo is fueling every wet dream he’s ever had, grasping Lio by the neck and squeezing his thighs when he’s close and moaning Lio’s name from the back of his throat. Lio could come, he could come and nobody would have come near him.  
  
Lio doesn’t give head on the usual, but Galo is the outlier to rule all outliers. Lio can’t say what he does and doesn’t like anymore. This idiot has ruined it all.

Lio rolls his tongue in circles as Galo grips his jaw, tongue flicking over the salty ridge of his head. 

“Oh my god,” Galo exhales. “I’m gonna’ catch on fire. I have a reputation, Lio!” 

“Come in my mouth.” 

“Not if I’m going to fuck you.”

Fuck that’s right. Lio groans with his mouth full. He pulls back with his lips feeling raw, and licks a line down to his balls. 

“I want to bruise,” Lio says. 

Galo makes good on that. 

Lio rides him until he’s tired of doing the work. Then he hooks a hand under his own thigh, and watches Galo go at it. The rhythm takes a learning curve, but Galo makes up for it in determination and great kisses. He’s slow to come, and it’s great because Lio gets to ride twice.

His eyes nearly roll back when Galo braces his weight on his chest. It’s only long enough for Galo to sit back on his heels, but the heavy press knocks the wind out of him, and his cock throbs like mad, the traitor.

It takes Galo five minutes to read the instructions on a ramen pack, but _somehow_ he just _knows_ how to read Lio’s body like an open book. One look and it’s over; Galo is fucking him in shallow, heavy grinds, and he slides his hand up Lio’s sternum, and Lio almost jolts out of his skin with excitement.

“Yes?” Galo pants.

“Yes,” Lio blurts, “Now now now –”

“Slap my arm if it’s too much,” Galo says, and Lio can’t handle the anticipation. Galo squeezes his brick of a hand around his throat. Lio floats off to cloud nine. He doesn’t worry about breathing, he doesn’t worry about anything, because _Galo has him._

His windpipe squeezes closed. The lack of oxygen makes him hypersensitive, aware of every place they’re touching, every short breath Galo makes.

Lio convulses in short waves as he comes. Galo lets go, and Lio sucks in air, fingers slipping up and gripping into Galo’s biceps. Sweat drips down Galo’s nose, and the blazed out, overwhelmed look in Galo’s eyes is erotic.

“Fuck,” Galo croaks.

“Again,” Lio demands.

* * *

The shaved side of Galo’s head is soft and fuzzy. Lio runs his fingertips around his ears, draws imaginary circles to his forehead and studies the sweep of his nose.

Galo’s head obediently remains in his lap. Lio would keep him here forever if he could.

They opened the window to air out the room. It’s only noon, and they can smell a neighbor’s barbecue off the balcony.

“You know…” Galo starts, “…that feeling when you take too much Dayquil, and everything’s fuzzy? Like, good but, _too_ good, you know.”

“Sure.”

“This feels like that,” Galo says. “Like I’m dreaming.”

Lio ponders a moment. Galo has long eyelashes, and they flutter as Lio thumbs close to his eyes.

“Yes,” Lio agrees. “Me too.”

Galo turns to look up at him. His eyes land on the fading handprints around his neck, down to the marks at his ribs. His throat bobs with a swallow, and he sits up to face Lio head on.

“Um. You don’t have to tell me anything. But are you okay?”

Touched, Lio pulls at him until he’s sitting in his lap. His leg will most definitely go numb, but he likes that Galo doesn’t question it.

“I’m okay. Sorry if I scared you last night.”

“No no – I mean, I was _worried_ but…shit, I’m bad at this. It’s hard to know what you’re thinking sometimes.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Lio says honestly. “I guess I heard you go mechless in the church and just…panicked. I couldn’t see you.”

“I had to ditch it to replace the support beams!” Galo defends. Lio lifts a hand as a sign of peace.

“I’m not here to argue. You did what you had to do. My brain just decided to have a meltdown over it.” 

Galo’s defenses drop, and he cups Lio by the back of the neck. He recaps aloud,

“You thought I was going to die.”

Lio doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Yes.”

Galo is silent for a moment, which is never a good sign. His expression grows distant, and his words come out as more of an afterthought.

“I dream about your heart stopping. I can remember it so vividly, sometimes it feels like it’s real.”

Lio’s stomach drops. The windchime on his balcony jingles with the breeze.

Galo is so rarely phased by life, Lio had thought he’d forgotten by now. He was mistaken.

“I’m here,” Lio says. “I’m right here.”

“I’m here too,” says Galo. “We’ll protect each other, okay?”

Lio smiles, and twists his finger around the drawcord on Galo’s joggers.

“Okay.” 

His throat must look pretty bad, because Galo’s eyes keep dropping to it. He doesn’t appear disgusted, but his eyes show rare concern.

“Lio, are you sure you’re alright? I squeezed pretty hard that last time.”

“I feel amazing,” Lio says flat. It gets him hot just thinking about it. “I’d tell you any differently, wouldn’t I?”

“Yeah. But I should’ve been more gentle…”

“Excuse me. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

“A really hot guy with some very interesting kinks,” Galo grins. 

“I’m angry that you know what that is. Who tainted you?”

“The past,” Galo says. “Just like you.”

The words sound deeper than what Galo was intending, and it hits Lio like a sledgehammer. He wants to do irrational things to this man.

“You know that after all this, I’m not going to let you go,” Lio warns.

Galo blinks. “Well, you have to _eventually._ It would be too hard to fight fires with my head in your lap.”

“No.” Lio brushes his knuckles through short blue fuzzies. “What I’m saying is, I’ll never let you date anyone else.”

“Ah. That’s fine, I think. I don’t want to kiss anyone but you,” Galo says earnestly. The words light a jittery fire in his chest.

Lio can’t withstand tipping his head up to catch his mouth. Their lips only brush, but it’s electric.

“Good.”

“Oh, but! I’m still not going easy on you when we race. Maybe during Uno, but I’m definitely winning the betting pool with Meis and Gueira.”

“If you go easy on me during Uno I’ll key your bike,” Lio threatens. Galo laughs hard enough to shake the bed frame.

Lio isn’t given a warning, but he sees Galo’s body tense before lunging, and Lio allows it. As it turns out, Galo loves giving hugs, and Lio sure as shit loves receiving them, so he wiggles around until Galo’s full weight is pressing him into the mattress, and they make out for what Galo says was _‘a million eternities’._ He’s not entirely wrong.

* * *

Gueira snaps his gum and says, “That was a longass catch, boss. Almost lost the line on that one.”

“I will strangle you,” Lio says.

“Not as good as Galo did, I bet,” Meis sips. “I love the thumbprint by your ear. You can tell he really dug in there.”

Lio’s expression doesn’t change, but he reaches up and drags down his bottom eyelid. His friends start to cackle.

“You’ve fucked him, right?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“That’s a yes,” Meis says. “Has he fucked _you?”_

Lio squints. Gueira whistles.

“What should I wear to the wedding?”

Lio stands up out of the coffee shop chair. The metal legs screech against the floor, and Guiera is up and hopping the counter in under a second.

“The freezer is the only door with a lock,” Meis tells him. Lio hops the counter one handed, and follows the trail of panicked-laughter and a loud deadbolt.

* * *

The uncontrollable panic does not return. Lio is sure it will one day, but at least he won’t be alone.

He watches Galo run into burning buildings and lift hatchback cars and continue to do all the batshit crazy nonsense Galo always has, and he doesn’t worry, because Lio has his back, and neither of them are going anywhere.

They’re pretty bad at dating. They try the whole movie plus restaurant equals carsex formula, but end up taking the food to go, just so they can hop on Lio’s bike and ride out to the mountains.

It’s their preferred style of date. Lio likes holding Galo’s hand and watching the stars and doing all the mushy stuff he never cared about before.

Lio still prefers to drag Galo home and fuck on the couch, and it seems like Galo isn’t too put out about that either.

“You’ll stay down there until I tell you,” Lio says, but he knows Galo can hear the humor in his tone, because he starts to giggle on his knees.

“I’m the man for the job!” Galo declares, and takes a fat bite out of his thigh.

He is, but Lio waits to fuel Galo’s ego until he’s begging for it.

* * *

“You lose about thirty-percent of your intimidation points when he carries you like that,” Lucia points. Lio scowls, and Lucia throws up her hands, “See! I haven’t caught on fire yet. Remi, test me.”

Remi sets his hand on Lucia’s head without looking, and then lifts his fingers.

“Still good.”

“I’ll get you,” Lio says. “You won’t know when, but I’ll get you.”

Galo is only carrying him with one arm, the scene of a small electric-fire smoldering in the background, and Lio glares when Lucia and Aina start to laugh.

“He’s like a little cat,” Aina coos.

“I’ve yet to see you walk on two feet since you two started dating,” Lucia says. “Hey, don’t give me that look! It’s cute, it’s cute!”

Galo turns from his conversation with the captain and grins, “What’s going on?”

“I’m taking a nap bye,” Lio says, and hides his head in Galo’s jacket.

“Oh, okay!”

“I don’t want to know,” Ignis says. “Wrap it up, or you’re buying your own pizzas.”

Lucia starts, “Wheeen the moon hits your eye –”

Lio slides out of Galo’s arms, already aware of this is going. Galo takes a deep breath, and Varys saves the day by slapping a big hand over his mouth.

“You’re an enabler,” Remi shakes his head, and unfortunately Lucia is a genius, so she is terrible at playing dumb. Varys startles,

“Ew, he licked my hand!”

“-that’s _amorrre!”_ Galo finishes.

“Galo is the realist mother fucker in these streets,” Lucia says. Galo makes a proud stance, hands on his hips. Aina rolls her eyes.

Ignis’s muscle car starts up, and Lio digs his pointer finger into Galo’s side.

“Baby, she’s tricking you into forfeiting your pizza.”

“Shit!” Galo jolts, and leaps into the back of the rescue mobile like his ass is on fire. “Let’s go, Lio!”

Lucia lets out a sigh, and sways over to the driver’s side door, “Damn. It is _so_ hard to pick on him since you came around.”

“Good,” Lio says. He sticks out a hand, and Galo pulls him up and into the truck like it’s nothing.

* * *

Lio’s apartment is filling with clutter.

Not a mess, but _things._ Tangible things. Stuff he can keep.

Photographs, birthday gifts, a cactus from Ignis’s backyard, collectable mugs from Gueira’s coffee shop.

Galo’s shirts always cram themselves into the weirdest places, and Lio complains about him forgetting his phone all the time, but he thinks it’s just an excuse for Galo to come back every night, as if he needed one.

And Lio realizes, on a crisp April morning, that he has moved on.

Maybe he will get a tattoo of his own.

* * *

“Ahhh,” Galo sighs, scratching at his arm. “I’m so glad this shit is done peeling.”

“You’re the one that decided to get a sleeve all at once,” Lio chides. He tosses his jacket onto the loveseat and crawls up beside Galo on the couch. He still smells like a housefire, but they’ll shower together later.

“And? It looks sick.”

Lio pulls at his tatted arm until it lands in his lap. Galo lets his hand go limp, and Lio traces over the ink with the pads of his fingers.

“It’s pretty,” he agrees.

“Like you!” Galo chirps. Lio rolls his eyes.

He fingers over the dragon, following the mouth until it reaches the matoi. He sighs, almost under his breath.

“I can’t believe you did this.”

“Is it that hard to believe?”

Not really. Lio follows the design to his wrist. The scar tissues is still there, but Lio can feel firm muscle and strong bones beneath the skin. Galo watches him with a soft smile, and keeps quiet as Lio continues his study. Curious, he turns Galo’s arm over and thumbs across a date tattooed at his elbow. 

“What is this?”

“Oh, that was for my parents!”

“Ah.” Lio doesn’t know how to ask.

Galo understands anyways,

“They passed away in a housefire when I was a kid. The uh, one that Kray rescued me from.”

Lio presses into the ink a little too tightly. He softens his grip, and brings Galo’s fingers to his mouth.

“I see. Were you put in the system?”

“I had an aunt on my dad’s side,” Galo explains. Lio nods.

“The freeze force took my family when I became head of the mad burnish.”

“Oh,” Galo swallows. “I’m so sorry.”

Lio shrugs, “It is what it is.” He kisses Galo’s knuckles, and lets go. Galo draws back his hand and the look on his face is pained and – angry, it seems. “What's wrong?”

“How…how can you work for a system that treated you so _terribly?”_

The question is surprisingly deep. Lio isn’t expecting it, and he blinks rapidly in surprise. Galo’s face is too somber, and Lio doesn’t like it.

He flops his head on Galo’s shoulder, and stares at the dark TV across the living room.

“I don’t,” Lio says. “The freeze force went to jail, and I work for burning rescue. I work with _you._ ”

Galo goes silent. An arm winds around his shoulders, and Lio closes his eyes, letting the exhaustion wash through him. His brain purrs with a happy and content _safe safe safe._

“I’d start a million fires for you,” Galo says with finality.

Lio smiles, and replies sleepily.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i told myself i wasn't gonna write more promare but look where i am. boo boo the fool

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just like a tattoo, I'll always have you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128966) by [audrenes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audrenes/pseuds/audrenes)




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